


You're a Peach

by Deisderium



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Communication, Emojis Used Badly, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Only the Very Stupidest Miscommunication, Picnics, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), That Space between Civil War and IW where anything is possible, dumbasses to lovers, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: But before Steve can worry himself into a cinder or give himself an actual erection, the little dots appear again, and a moment later, a picture comes through, of Bucky standing proudly in front of a raised bed garden.Holding an eggplant.Steve wonders if it's possible to sink through the bed, the hotel floor, and into some dank hotel basement or laundry room where he can hide from the fact that Bucky, apparently, is still using emojis completely literally and he, Steve, is a fucking idiot.🍑In which Steve accidentally panic sexts Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 182
Kudos: 1151





	You're a Peach

**Author's Note:**

> as of May 7, 2020, [cinnabony](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/cinnabony) has translated You're a Peach into [Russian,](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9355290) and I'm so honored! <3 <3 <3

The thing about Bucky being in Wakanda is—

Look, Bucky is alive and not under Hydra's control, so it’s pretty much ideal. Steve would do anything to have Bucky be okay, and this is the closest he's gotten, so Steve is grateful, it's just—

Steve just wants him closer, is all. He knows it's not possible. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Bucky was afraid that he'd hurt people, hurt Steve, but he hadn't. He'd just put himself under and Steve had had to suck it up until he came out again. Bucky is safe in Wakanda, his mind free of the trigger words, a new arm courtesy of Shuri, and Steve eager to visit him as often as possible between missions. Sam and Natasha give him a little shit about it, but he knows they understand.

Steve's in contact with T'Challa and Shuri as well, and it isn't long before he's in contact with Bucky too. He doesn't even know that Bucky's out of the cryochamber when it happens.

_ Hey Steve, _ a text message from an unknown number pops up while he and Sam and Natasha are in Prague routing out the latest Hydra cell. Steve frowns; almost no one has this number, and most of the people that do are in this hotel room. Besides, Natasha had assured him that his device was secure.

_ It's Bucky, _ comes the next text, and then Steve's heart is in his throat, his fingers fumbling at the touch screen like he can't answer quickly enough.

_ Hey Buck,  _ he types back with trembling fingers. _ It's good to hear from you. How've you been? _

_ Pretty good,  _ Bucky replies, and then a picture comes through, of a small house by a lake. It's pretty and pastoral, and there are—Steve squints—goats in the distance.

_ Is that where you're staying?  _ Steve asks.

_ Home sweet home, for now.  _ Another picture comes through, a closer look at the goats. Even better, Bucky is in the frame, just half his face—a selfie by someone more concerned with getting the goats in the picture then himself.

_ I like your new friends,  _ Steve types back.

_ Next time you visit, you can meet them, _ Bucky says, and Steve can't help the smile that splits his face.

They text all the time after that. The time difference means that they're not always talking at the same time, but the nice thing about texts is that a few hours—or days, if Steve's on a mission—between answers don't really matter that much. It's easy to pick up the thread when you can scroll back up and see exactly where you left off. Steve slowly learns what Bucky's into these days. Seventy years of brainwashing couldn't strip away Bucky's love of spaceships and other planets, and the pulp is a lot better quality these days. Steve himself doesn't have a lot of reading time, but he loves hearing Bucky's opinions on the books that he's reading, and Bucky's never shy about sharing them.

Steve gets more pictures of the goats, and pictures of the kids—human, not caprine—from the nearby village. He hears a lot about Shuri, too, and Steve is really touched by how much time the princess spends with Bucky.

Bucky finds the emojis, and while Steve has become used to Natasha sprinkling their conversations with little cats and spiders and whatnot, he's never really taken to using them himself. But Bucky—Bucky seems to love them. Steve doesn't always have to even look at earlier messages to remember what they were talking about; not when Bucky liberally uses the spaceship emoji to talk about books, or the cat emoji when he's talking about T'Challa, or the goat when he's talking about his goats. It's endearingly literal, and Steve kind of loves that he does it. He tries to reciprocate, but he feels awkward and dumb, even though if anyone were to care, it certainly wouldn't be Bucky. But it doesn't come naturally to him, and after Nat finds him blushing at his own phone, he gives it up.

Until.

Look, Steve might not be good or even comfortable at using emojis, but he's not entirely ignorant of some of their other meanings. Which is why when he wakes up to an eggplant emoji from Bucky on his phone, he has a moment of confusion and then a moment of panic, and then circles back around to confusion again.

Steve has always loved Bucky, but he's also always had a thing for Bucky. A sexual thing. While he'd love to be able to say that the sexual component of his attraction had gone away with time, it's not true at all. Even when Bucky had been actively trying to kill him, he'd wanted to put his mouth on Bucky. Like, all over him. 

The problem was, it had never been reciprocated. Not when Bucky Barnes, ladies' man, had been taking every girl in Brooklyn out for a turn around the dance floor; not when Sergeant Barnes had been watching Steve's six all over Europe; and certainly not now, when the former Winter Soldier was living with goats in Wakanda and trying to put the pieces of himself back together. It would be selfish to try and impose Steve's feelings on him. Steve knows that, most of the time. He’s lucky as hell to have Bucky's friendship again.

But then...

He squints at his phone again. The text from Bucky is indubitably an eggplant emoji and nothing more. Had this come from some rando, he'd have assumed that a dick pic was incoming. But Bucky sent this hours ago, while Steve was asleep, and his notifications for texts were set to silent on missions, so it wouldn't have woken him up.

Steve glances at the other beds in the hotel room. Sam and Nat are sleeping, and anyway, if he woke them up for this, they'd probably laugh at him. Sure, his pulse is pounding and his stomach is tight at the thought of Bucky wanting him, but he can handle sexting back his best friend by himself, right? 

Bucky started with emojis. Surely it's the safest way to respond.

Steve takes a deep breath, then taps in three emojis in quick succession: 🍆🍑💦. Then, heart in his throat, he hits send. He waits for a few seconds to see if Bucky will respond, but honestly, he has no idea what time it is in Wakanda right now. His pulse is speeding faster than it has in actual battle. Did he go too far? If Bucky is initiating anything, Steve wants to meet him where he is. Wherever that is and whatever it entails. Bucky's had a lifetime of no, and all Steve wants to give him is every kind of yes. 

More emojis come back: melon, cucumber, tomato...lettuce? Steve is out of his depth here. He feels panic creeping up on him. This is far outside his knowledge of suggestive emoji. Melon...tits? He's aware that he's now in possession of a pretty impressive rack. But cucumber? Tomato? Lettuce makes him think of salad, which...is Bucky suggesting  _ rimming? _ Mother of  _ God.  _ Steve's never done it or had it done to him, but if Bucky wanted... 

Steve turns over in his bed, back to the other side of the room. He can't think about this right now. He absolutely can't think about anything those emojis imply, not with Sam and Nat in the room.

But, Christ, Bucky. How can he think of anything else? He's aware that it's his turn to send the next emoji, but god, what to send? He's overwhelmed by possibilities and also terrified of sending the wrong thing. The last thing in the world he wants is to put Bucky off or misinterpret what he's saying. 

But before he can worry himself into a cinder or give himself an actual erection, the little dots appear again, and a moment later, a picture comes through, of Bucky standing proudly in front of a raised bed garden.

Holding an eggplant.

Steve wonders if it's possible to sink through the bed, the hotel floor, and into some dank hotel basement or laundry room where he can hide from the fact that Bucky, apparently, is still using emojis completely literally and he, Steve, is a fucking idiot. 

_ Nice garden, _ he types back weakly.

_ Thanks,  _ he gets back a moment later.  _ It's coming along. Next time you visit, we can have dinner with stuff I grew myself. _

_ That'll be nice, _ Steve replies weakly, glad that abject mortification doesn't transmit via text.

_ I don't have any peaches though. The climate's wrong here, even if you're suggesting irrigation.  _ Somehow, he can almost hear Bucky laughing at him through the text, though. It's a mystery how he does that.

"Ha ha," Steve mutters under his breath as he types, nervously. "My fingers must have slipped. Big fingers, small screen." He's kind of sweating bullets a little bit since this is an out-and-out lie. He can only hope that no one in Wakonda has updated Bucky on sexting protocol for the modern man.

He watches another photograph appear—more of the goats, and Bucky's attempts to keep them away from his garden—and then feels the spine-chilling weight of a tap on his shoulder and the mattress dipping as someone gets in his bed. A slender hand plucks his phone right out of his fingers and even as Steve says, "Hey!" Natasha reads the entire exchange.

A set of sushi pajamas and her hair in a braid for sleeping doesn't make the Black Widow any less terrifying, not when she's critiquing one's personal life, anyway.

"Steve," she says in a deeply disapproving voice.

Steve tries futilely to head this entire conversation off at the pass. "Bucky's doing really great, right?" he says in a whisper. There's no need to wake Sam up so Sam can laugh at him too.

"Yes," she says. "He's doing much better than I could've hoped. You, on the other hand, are a hot mess."

"I know," he says. "Believe me, I've always known." He rubs his hands over his face, as if he could wipe away seventy years of pining with a hand gesture.

"Were you together, before?” Her voice is gentle, and she seems to read that the answer is no before Steve even shakes his head to confirm it. "Did he know how you felt? Does he now?"

"No. It never seemed like the time to tell him, and it feels selfish to tell him now, while he's recovering from everything."

"I don't think it's selfish to tell him how you feel," she says softly. "He's got to know that you love him, even if he doesn't know all the ways how."

"Maybe," he says miserably. "I don't know."

Her eyes scan his, and they'd be barely visible in the dim light, but his vision is pretty good these days, and he can tell the exact second that her expression shifts into something more playful. "I think you should tell him," she says, and hands his phone back over. "But maybe not with sex emojis, Steve, you utter disaster."

"I know!" He lets his hands flail, just a little bit, because he still doesn't want to wake up Sam and get his opinion on all of Steve's nonsense. "I panicked. I thought he was sexting me!"

Natasha wheezes in nearly silent hilarity, very clearly and very obviously laughing at everything about Steve, and it's not like Steve can blame her. "You should text him back," she says, laughing. "He sent you more pictures of his goats. But maybe save the sex talk for in person."

"Bold of you to assume I'd be any better at it then," Steve says, and leans back over his phone to reply to Bucky.

🍆

For a few days, Steve and Bucky continue to text as usual. Steve's going to see him once this mission is over—in about two weeks, if all goes well. He’s excited to see him, for the first time since he came out of the cryochamber. He tries to act like nothing happened, like he didn't sext his best friend who was innocently having a conversation about his garden, and at first, it seems like he's managed to escape the consequences of his own stupidity.

But then the tone changes. It's subtle, so subtle that Steve is left questioning himself, wondering if it's even really happening.

Bucky sends him another eggplant emoji, and this time, Steve responds appropriately, asks how the garden is going. He's congratulating himself on not being a complete dumbass creep when Bucky follows up with a peach emoji.

_ I asked about the irrigation system,  _ the next text reads.  _ Shuri says that's not really a thing they can make work here. But maybe you can bring me one when you visit. _

Then another picture comes through. Bucky's hefting a bale of hay, caught in the moment of flinging it onto a stack of them. He's dressed in pants and a shirt instead of the wrap kind of thing he'd worn before, partly bent over as he flings the hay. The pose accentuates his butt, the fabric pulled tight against the muscles, a few wrinkles following the curve of his thighs. Steve has to swallow hard and try to think of something to say that's not  _ that ass. _

_ Looking good,  _ he manages to type out, which is boring but at least not an invitation to park that ass on Steve's lap.

_ You should see my melons,  _ Bucky replies, followed by two melon emojis. Then he sends a photo of himself, holding two cantaloupes, and he's wearing...a button down shirt that looks like it's been painted across his chest. Somehow it doesn't have sleeves, There's a few inches where the fabric is a little looser around his narrow waist, but then Steve can see how tight his pants are, and it's a lot to take in. Steve isn't sure how that can possibly be comfortable to do farm work in, but hey, Steve's not the one flinging bales of hay.

But what Steve can't look away from is Bucky's smile, or the hard muscle of his biceps—well, one's metal, but it matches the flesh one exactly—or the cotton stretched tight across his chest. Or, if Steve is honest with himself, the sharp, precise shadow of his nipple, clear as a bell. Steve wants to put his mouth on it, lick it through the shirt. Bucky's not wearing an undershirt; Steve's breath would be hot enough to feel through the fabric, Bucky would feel the cloth get wet if Steve licked him through it.

And Steve would be able to smell him, the sharp smell of his sweat, the sweet scent of the cut hay. He'd be able to feel the warmth of his body, the sun-hot silk of his skin.

Steve has to take in a quick, deep breath to clear his mind before he can type back,  _ Those are some really good looking melons you have there. _

_ Thanks, _ Bucky replies. _ I've been working on them. _ This is immediately followed with a close up of a sliced cantaloupe, the seeds shiny and wet, and then a pic of Bucky taking a big bite out of a cantaloupe slice, his teeth shiny and white against the flesh of the fruit, his smile crinkling the skin by his eyes. Steve's heart aches to look at him, not even because he's irredeemably thirsty, but because his heart is full with Bucky's second-hand happiness.

_ That smile looks good on you, _ Steve types, grateful that Bucky can't hear how terribly soft his voice would be if he said it out loud.

_ It'll be even better in person,  _ Bucky replies, and well, Steve can't argue with that.

Bucky continues to send photos, and Steve sends him some back, although what he has to send is mostly his own disheveled face. But the ones Bucky sends are  _ suggestive, _ and Steve doesn't think he's imagining it.

It's not any one thing that he could point out to, say, Natasha, if she were to ask. There's nothing lewd about any individual photograph, but taken as a whole, they point to something Steve wasn't sure he would ever see from Bucky again.

When they were kids, Bucky was so— _ flirty  _ is the only word for it. He knew he looked good, and he liked for people to look at him. He was a sharp dresser, always fiddling with his hair to make it look just so. It isn't exactly the same thing, but when Steve scrolls through the pictures that Bucky's sent him, he gets that same kind of feeling: that Bucky likes looking good, that he wants someone—Steve—to see that he does.

It makes a feeling like hope swell his already-big chest, even if he knows that it's probably more that Bucky is coming back into himself and starting to like some of the same things he used to now that he's safe and has room to explore. It probably doesn't have anything to do with Steve specifically, except that he's the person Bucky's sending his pictures to. But, oh, Steve likes to look at him.

There's Bucky, with his hair braided back and little pink-and-white flowers tucked in along the braids. His hair pulled back like that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, and the angle of his eyelashes is coy. Then there's the one of Bucky in his Wakandan dress, in the lake, with the water up to his thighs, and his head thrown back, hair flying, droplets of water scribing a circle in the air. Then there's the one of him after he got out of the water, apparently, with his wet shirt plastered tight across his chest. Steve doesn't like to think about how long he just stared at that one after it came through. It's not pornography, any of it, not even close; but with the effect that it has on Steve, it might as well be.

Sam and Nat notice, of course. Steve spends so much time mooning at his phone, how could they not? Steve's never been particularly subtle.

"Did you finally get your head out of your ass?" Sam asks him one morning.

Steve drops his phone to the table where in theory he's eating breakfast but in fact has been staring at a picture of Bucky by the lake at sunset. The lake is beautiful, still water reflecting the pink and orange of the sky, and it's beautiful, but not as beautiful as the way the golden-hour light paints Bucky's face.

"I have no idea what you mean by that," Steve says—lies, really, because Sam can see right through him, and he figured out that Steve was head over heels for Bucky sometime when they were still chasing him through Europe.

Sam rolls his eyes, but he snags Steve's phone and takes a look. "Is this the 1940s version of a thirst trap?"

"Who's a thirst trap?" Natasha says as she sits at the table with her coffee and some kind of pastry.

"Barnes," Sam says distinctly, and shoves Steve's phone across the table at her.

"Good lighting," Natasha says approvingly. "It really brings out his cheekbones."

"He doesn't need lighting for that," Steve says, because it's certainly true—not that anyone in the room currently is lacking in the cheekbone department either.

Natsha scrolls through Steve's camera roll, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the pictures Bucky sent Steve, which of course he saved to a folder where he can peruse them whenever he likes. "I thought you were gonna wait to talk to him in person," she comments.

"I did! I mean, I am," Steve says.

"Hmmm," is all she says, and Sam restrains himself to what Steve feels is a very judgmental shake of his head.

🍆

The mission goes smoothly, and even according to plan, which is a pleasant change from most of the time. They're able to finish up with the former Hydra cell, and Steve takes the time to get cleaned up and pack for a few weeks' stay—however long it takes Nat to rustle up more information, anyway. He hopes he gets a few weeks. It seems like there's always something—if it's not Hydra, it's AIM, or aliens—but aside from this last mission, things have been relatively quiet in terms of threats that need enhanced individuals to battle them. 

He's gotten pretty good at piloting a quinjet, and he's got the coordinates to Birnin Zana memorized. He appreciates more than he has words for that T'Challa has let them have this sanctuary, that he's made a place for Bucky—and Steve—where the rest of the world has only made them fugitives. Steve's so grateful. 

He's even more grateful when T'Challa only meets with him briefly before directing him to the hut where Bucky's staying.

"We can talk about anything else after you see your friend," T'Challa says, already calling over one of the Dora Milaje to be his guide. Steve usually keeps him apprised of what his little ragtag band has been up to. Someone besides them ought to be aware of the threats they're handling. But he appreciates more than he can say that T'Challa is letting it slide for now, letting Steve do what he really, really needs to.

He's been to Wakanda several times at this juncture, but it never gets old: the tall, rounded buildings and arching walkways of Birnin Zana giving way to the suburbs and the thick forests around them. They follow the river, the Dora maneuvering the hovercraft expertly along the bank. The mountains draw closer where the river expands, and Steve closes his eyes, lets himself feel the wind whipping through his hair, the warm sun on his skin.

They pull up at a hut a little apart from a village. It's beautiful along the water, and Steve realizes with a jolt that Bucky is waiting by the hut when the Dora pulls her vehicle to a stop. Steve's never seen anything as good as Bucky standing there, smiling as he looks at Steve. The sight of him in the sunlight, his hair loose around his shoulders, garbed in red and blue in one of the traditional Wakandan styles, pierces Steve with a happiness so profound it aches, a sweet pain that burns him from the inside.

Steve gets off the hovercraft, and in seconds, there are strong arms wrapped around him, one flesh and bone, one metal, and Bucky hugs him hard, and he gives back as good as he's getting, the two of them squeezing into each other like they're trying to meld into one being, until Steve's ribs ache from the outside as well as the inside. He loves it, loves the press of their bodies against each other, and when they pull back to look at each other, Bucky's smile is so wide that Steve thinks he could happily expire of Bucky smiling at him.

"All good then, White Wolf," the Dora who brought Steve there says, smiling herself. Steve can't tell if Bucky's flushed, his skin's so dark with the sun, but he's sure he himself is blushing enough for both of them. He had completely forgotten that she was there. She adds something in Xhosa, and Bucky ducks his head and says something back, then takes Steve's bag from her.

"I can get that," Steve says, smiling, as the Dora gets back in the hovercraft and turns to fly back to the Golden City.

"I know you can," Bucky says. "You're my guest, though, and I want to."

"All right," Steve says. His cheeks ache. He can't seem to stop smiling.

Bucky gives him a fond, soft smile, and leads him into the hut. Steve takes an interested look around; Bucky's hut is bigger than it looks from the outside, but that's not saying all that much. There's an area that's half-kitchen, half-living room, and a hallway that Steve presumes leads back to Bucky's bedroom and probably a bathroom in there somewhere. It's only a little bigger than the apartment they shared in Brooklyn in the thirties. What it lacks in spaciousness, though, it by far makes up in comfort. All the furnishings look soft and comfortable, and though the hut looked rustic on the outside, it appears to be well appointed in the kind of Wakandan technology that could put Avengers Tower to shame. Steve brushes aside the pang of loss and anger that he always feels when he thinks of Tony, and steps forward to examine the kitchen, where the technology is most apparent.

Bucky's stovetop is some gleaming metal that doesn't look like chrome, and a bit of poking around finds what looks like a cabinet, but is actually a refrigerator.

"You hungry?" Bucky sounds amused, but Steve doesn't turn to look. He's just having a feeling about Bucky's well-stocked fridge and his beautiful home.

"I'm all right," Steve says, and turns back around. "You want to show me the rest of it?"

"Sure," Bucky says. He leads Steve to the hallway, and there's a bathroom that's frankly outsized for the rest of the house, but it's got an enormous tub, a spacious shower, and Bucky's got little potted plants packed into the window sills.

"This is amazing," Steve says honestly.

"Yeah, well." Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his flesh hand. "It's all right." Bucky backs away, and Steve tears his gaze away from the bathroom and to Bucky's bedroom.

"Wow, Buck." Steve tries to take in the enormous bed, the thick curtains by the windows, the orchids on the bedside table. "This is beautiful."

"It's okay," Bucky says, in the exact same tone he talked about the bathroom, and Steve can see that he's battling himself not to act too proud of it.

"This is wonderful, Buck," Steve says firmly. He can't help but notice that there's only Bucky's very spacious bed. Well, he supposes there's the couch as well. Kind of small for a guy as big as either of them, though. They bunked together before, of course—in the thirties, and certainly when they were running missions with the Howling Commandos. It's not that they've never shared a bed before, but they've certainly never done it since Bucky came back to himself. Of course not when Bucky had been an assassin trying to kill Steve, and not when he'd been a fugitive trying to escape Steve—and then, not when he'd been frozen in Wakanda at his own request. So this will be new for both of them, and if Steve is thinking about it being awkward because of how much he wants Bucky, well, that's his problem, not Bucky's—although Bucky's told him he doesn't always sleep that well. Steve doesn't know how him being there or not wold affect Bucky's sleep.

Bucky tosses Steve's duffel bag to the floor of the bedroom without any comment, and Steve actively decides to just not think about it until he has to.

"I hope you're hungry, though," Bucky says. "I thought we could have a picnic by the lake."

"That sounds great, Buck," Steve says. "Did you cook me up any of that stuff you been growing?"

"Guess we'll have to wait and find out," Bucky says, and there's something sly about his voice, like there's a joke that he's in on that Steve doesn't know about. Something in Steve's chest melts a little bit at the sound of it, because as much as he's told himself not to compare this new Bucky with his original flavor friend, it's a tone of voice that he's long familiar with, and he wasn't sure that he would ever hear it again.

"You take this," Bucky says, and jams a thick, folded blanket into his hands, while Bucky picks up a frankly enormous basket. It doesn't look light, either.

"I could get that," Steve says.

"Yeah, you could," Bucky says, "but you ain't, on account of I'm carrying it."

And that makes Steve smile again, just a hint of how they'd both talked a lifetime ago. "All right, Buck," he says, and follows him outside.

There's a path that leads toward the village Steve saw from the hovercraft, but Bucky leads them the other way, saying, "There'll be plenty of time for me to introduce you around, they can wait their turn."

Steve follows him, laughing. "You know, I'm pretty sure most Wakandans aren't dying to meet Captain America anyway."

Bucky tosses a look over his shoulder that Steve can't interpret. "No, but some of my neighbors are dying to meet Steve."

"Yeah?" Steve's chest swells a little at the thought that Bucky has been talking about him, enough that maybe his friends want to meet this Steve guy. It makes sense to him—Bucky's been his best friend forever. But Bucky hadn't remembered him, and then even when he had, he'd run away for so long...It just means a lot to him.

"Here we are," Bucky says, and when they come around a stand of trees, Steve wants to gasp, it's so beautiful. The water goes on and on, sparkling in the sunlight, still enough that the trees are drawn again in their reflection, a double line of green. There's a flat space cleared in the trees, with grass clipped short enough for Steve to flick the blanket open and spread it flat for them to sit on. Bucky nods approvingly and sits, so Steve sits next to him.

"I'm really glad you're here," Bucky says simply, and it catches in Steve's throat.

He has to swallow hard so he can get out, "I'm really glad to be here, too. I missed you."

"I'm glad at least we could text," Bucky replies, and there's something teasing in his voice again.

"Bucky," Steve begins, not even sure what he's going to say, but he has to say something to that sly tone, because it's making his heart go too fast and his mouth feel dry.

"We should eat," Bucky says, and he opens the basket. Steve wants to press, but he doesn't. He can be patient. He's not  _ good  _ at it, but he can. He'll be here for weeks. They have time. 

Bucky's got some kind of sci-fi casserole dish or something, because when he presses a button, part of it slides back and whatever's inside is still steaming. Bucky plates it up and passes Steve a plate. It smells incredible, redolent with tomato sauce and cheese and...eggplant?

"Wow," Steve says, "did you make this? Is it from your garden?"

"Yes and yes," Bucky says, smiling. "The eggplant and tomatoes come from raised beds. So do some of the herbs. It's not goat cheese, though."

Steve takes a bite. It's rich and savory and so, so good. "This is amazing. I didn't know you could cook like this."

"Well, I'm learning." Then he smiles, and it's a little wicked, and that smile looks so, so good on him. "Besides, it was pretty clear from your text that you liked the thought of my eggplant."

"Bucky." Steve can feel his face turning bright red. Clearly, he's learned all about the stupid sexting emojis since Steve sent them to him.

Just as clearly, he enjoys making Steve suffer, because when Steve opens his mouth to go on, he says, "C'mon Steve, eat up. I'll be pissed if we let this get cold."

"Okay," Steve says, cheeks still burning, but he takes another bite because it's excellent and he too will be mad at himself if he lets it get cold. If Bucky wants to let him stew a while longer, he can handle it.

They keep eating, and they talk almost continuously. It's nice to just talk—no mission, no debrief. Bucky fills Steve in on what he does all day, and the people who live nearby; Steve catches Bucky up on his missions, and on Nat and Sam. None of what Steve's been up to is nearly as interesting as Bucky building a life in Wakanda, in Steve's opinion, but Bucky listens like he's interested, and his eyes are warm on Steve the whole time they talk.

When the plates are clean, Steve tries to bring up the emoji thing again, but Bucky just shakes his head and says, "I brought dessert," so Steve shuts his mouth and watches Bucky bring out another bowl and two spoons. He unwraps the bowl, and Steve doesn't know what to do with his face as Bucky reveals perfectly halved peaches, the flesh pink and gold and shining without the skin.

"I thought you couldn't grow peaches here," Steve says, his voice not quite steady.

"I can't." Bucky reaches into the basket and pulls out a little pitcher. "Shuri ordered them for me when I asked her to."

"Oh," Steve says, and then he can't look away as Bucky pours cream slowly over the peach halves, coating them with thick white liquid. Is Steve some kind of pervert, or does this actually look as suggestive as he thinks?

Bucky passes him a spoon, and when he looks up, their eyes meet. Have Bucky's eyes always been this blue and intent on him? Steve can't look away.

"Go ahead and try it," Bucky says. "It's a classic. Like us."

Steve carves out a bite with his spoon, and puts it in his mouth. It's perfectly ripe and juicy, and there's a little sugar in the cream as well as in the fruit itself. He swallows, and it slides down his throat. "It's good," he says. "Sweet."

"I thought we could use some sweet," Bucky says, smiling, and takes a bite himself. He looks so beautiful, the sun shining on the beauty in front of them, on Bucky's hair, half-unbound, on the freckled skin of his shoulders.

"Bucky," Steve says again, and this time Bucky looks up at him and smiles.

"Steve," he says, and licks the spoon. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"I think you already know," Steve says, and Bucky smiles like the cat that got the cream, even though there are no cats and the cream is in the bowl, and shit, even thinking that sounds filthy. "But just in case you don't, I'm crazy about you."

"Let me tell you what tipped me off," Bucky says, and Steve buries his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he tells his palms. "I panicked when I saw that eggplant emoji."

"I thought it was a non sequitur at first." Bucky's voice is followed by the heavy weight of his right hand at the nape of Steve's neck. It's so welcome and familiar that Steve lets his hands fall away so he can peek at Bucky's face, which is smiling and kind, and Steve feels a little apprehension fall away. It's Bucky. Even if he doesn't feel the same way that Steve does, he won't push him away. "Then Shuri saw our texts."

Steve puts his hands right back over his face. "No, no, no! Shuri's a child. I don't know how I can ever look her in the face again." 

Bucky laughs. "You have to! We're having dinner with her and T'Challa in a few days."

"Ugh," Steve says in a very sincere and mature way. He doesn't mean it at all, but the thought of the Wakandan princess also knowing about his clumsy attempts at flirtation by text makes him want to set himself on fire. 

"It's okay," Bucky says. "She thought it was funny."

Steve lets himself fall backward onto the soft blanket over the soft grass and flings his forearm over his eyes. He can hear birds calling to each other and insects buzzing, and a second later, Bucky's head comes to rest on his shoulder. He moves a little to tip Bucky a little further on his chest, where hopefully he'll be more comfortable. If he can also hear Steve's pulse speeding, well, that's just part of what this is. Cards on the table and all that.

"Did you think it was funny?" Steve says softly.

"No," Bucky whispers back. "I mean, a little bit! But the sentiment behind it...no." He rests his hand on the center of Steve's chest, right over his heart. "I don't remember if we ever..."

"No. I never told you," Steve says. He reaches up with the arm under Bucky's body to stroke a slow hand down his spine. "I never thought it would be welcome. But...I guess it's pretty clear I jumped at the slightest chance that it might be."

"Steve..." Steve moves his arm and opens his eyes. He can't not, not at Bucky saying his name that way, like it sounds good in his mouth. Bucky is looking at him with the kind of tenderness that Steve can't fathom, like Steve is something precious. Bucky catches his eyes and smiles, and the skin around his eyes crinkles up, and the light picks out highlights in his hair, and Steve's never seen anything better than this.

"I love you," Steve says. "Like a best friend, but not just like that. If you never want anything more of me, that's fine, but if you do...I want to be everything for you."

Bucky lifts his head up and scoots over so that he's over Steve, their chests pressed together, their faces close enough that they're breathing the same breath. "Don't you know that you already are?"

Steve's breath catches in his chest, right where Bucky is touching him, and he can't answer but it doesn't matter, because Bucky leans in and kisses him. His lips are soft and careful, and Steve's never really let himself picture too specifically what this might feel like, because there are Geneva conventions against torture, but he can't really even joke about torture and kissing Bucky in the same thought, because it makes him lean up to chase Bucky's lips and kiss him harder.

"Do you mean it?" Steve says, breathless, when they pull apart just slightly, no more than an inch. Bucky's eyes look a little dazed, and Steve thinks he's proud.

"I've never meant anything more," Bucky says. "I don't remember everything—"

"Buck," Steve breathes. "That doesn't matter, not if you mean it now."

"I don't remember everything," Bucky says louder, "but I do remember that I've always loved you."

"Oh," Steve says, around the feeling in his chest, the one that makes him think that maybe his heart is growing. "I've always loved you, too. I can't imagine not loving you."

Bucky wraps his hands around Steve's biceps and pulls him up. "Come home with me," he says. "This is new for both of us. Let's be new at it together."

Steve rocks up higher so he can get his mouth on Bucky's. Nothing's ever felt better. "I'll never try to sext you via emoji again," he promises.

Bucky stands up and tugs his hand. "Well, never say never."

🍑

It's a couple of days before Steve remembers his phone.

Bucky's asleep, worn out. Steve's not sure how he personally is awake, to be honest. Turns out it hasn't been a problem that there's only one bed. He rolls over and sees his phone, checks his messages to see an emoji heart from Natasha.

_ You were right,  _ he texts back.  _ It was better to talk about it in person. _

He has no idea what time it is where she is, and it doesn't matter.

He turns his phone off, rolls over, and wraps his arm around Bucky again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [this cosplayer](https://www.instagram.com/p/B24ZYIcDVgv/) for helping me out with Bucky's selfies. :D


End file.
